


aiming for home

by codesandhearts



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Demisexuality, F/M, M/M, Multi, Road Trip, complete with road trip music, polyamory kind of???, stupid boys pining, this fic is the sappiest thing ever, wells is alive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 01:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3671805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codesandhearts/pseuds/codesandhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln is tasked as the camp’s cartographer. It’s usually just him and Octavia charting the territories but, sometimes, he brings along company. Monty and Miller are just the new additions to the crew. Being in the wild like this makes you think about things, like if you should kiss the boy you like who’s standing right next to you.</p><p>aka: the road trip with feelings no one asked for bcos goddamn if the 100 writers won’t appreciate their POC i fucking will</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the earth

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO I AM BACK WITH MORE MINTY. idk even what this fic was but i couldn't get it out of my head so hashtag yolo because i ship minty with a burning passion and i love all of these characters so much. 
> 
> the title comes from red eyes by switchfoot  
> the song monty and miller are listening to is from afar by vance joy
> 
> (i would link were i in a land with stable internet)

When he was a kid on the Ark, Monty dreamed about moving out from his parents’ bunker and getting a room with Jasper. It was a small dream, but he was a small boy with a big crush. This was the extent of his love for Jasper when he was younger, to dream that, one day, they could spend their lives together in a small metal box and forget their atoms belonged on earth. He told Jasper this once, mistakenly, and all Jasper did was shrug and say, “But what about the girl I’m going to marry?” Monty didn’t think of that, didn’t think they’d need anyone but each other, so he buried the dream under hours working in engineering and getting stoned in empty rooms.

His dreams, subsequently, grew bigger and he tried not to include Jasper in them. He’d work as an engineer, he’d find a way to get their people to the ground, and he’d find someone else to love. Jasper was never far from his mind, neither was the room they were going to share. He was still Monty’s best friend and he always thought he would tell Jasper one day, about his feelings. But days got longer and they continued in living in a haze of smoke until they didn’t notice when they were shoved into the Skybox. After lockup, after being strapped into the Exodus ship and breathing fresh, real air –well, they didn’t have time anymore.

Every day was just being hunched over a bunch of broken wristbands and trying to contact the Ark, trying not to burn inside whenever Jasper smiled at Octavia or whenever he saw people kissing around camp because he never had that. He was beginning to feel he was never going to. But it was okay –he had his electronics and steady beat of his hands against metal.  He was important, like Clarke said.

He was getting a hand of things. He was good at his job, he made friends and the sting of unrequited love became an occasional discomfort. He had Clarke, who he loved without reserve, and Bellamy, who could be a close friend if he got rid of those guns, Octavia, too, and Raven. Everyone at camp seemed to like him. He had friends and, even with his parents in the sky like he once was, he felt like he had a family.

And then Mount Weather happened.

 

People get used to loss.

It’s a sad idea but it’s the right one. The kids get so accustomed to not saying Clarke’s name around Bellamy that no one says her name anymore. The Mountain Men soon become ghosts that only haunt Monty and Bellamy.

Lincoln told him once that, in one of the old religions, a person’s name is a prayer. It’s almost like someone just merely saying a name can reach the heavens. Monty likes the idea of protecting the people he loves by just whispering their names so he keeps doing it. He never kept to a religion, never got the whole concept, but he can do this.

He’s been talking to Lincoln a lot these past few weeks. It’s not like Lincoln is the only person around that he can talk to or anything. He has Bellamy, who shares his ghosts, and Harper, his wounds, and Raven and Wick, who get his elaborate engineering rants, and Miller...who is something different entirely. But Lincoln is nice. Always telling him stories and talking about his drawings. His hands are rough and his body huge but his words are kind and he always stops whatever he’s doing whenever Octavia walks by, as if pulled by her mere existence.

They share early morning watches together and talk about how the sun looks just as everyone is waking up. Monty’s no artist like Lincoln and Clarke but he can appreciate how Lincoln goes on about the way the colours reach the top of the crashed part of the Ark, a reflecting rainbow in the metal.

Because Camp Jaha’s central leadership is fairly new to the ground and its landscapes, Lincoln has been tasked to be the camp’s cartographer and scavenger. He knows the woods and expanses, can draw better than most, and is ridiculously intelligent. Camp Jaha is scared from the war with Mount Weather and the Woods Clan so, obviously, they send a Grounder to check if the coast is clear. Lincoln disappears for a few days at a time to make maps and always brings Octavia.

So he’s not really surprised when Lincoln tells him one day that he’s going to chart the lands for the next few weeks and would like Monty to join him. Though he is surprised when Lincoln asks Miller, who is eating next to him, to come, too.

“You don’t have to come,” Monty says when Lincoln leaves.

Miller just shrugs. “Are you kidding me? I need a break from this place.” He pauses. “Unless you don’t...”

“No, God no, I want you to come,” Monty says quickly. “It’ll be fun. You, me, Lincoln, Octavia and the great wild.”

“Yeah. Sounds great,” Miller sounds far away, somehow.

They’ve been hanging out almost constantly since the mountain. The fallout between him and Jasper caused something like a divorce but Monty got to keep both Harper and Miller. Miller sticks by him, eats meals with him and even invites him to his room he shares with his father, which is far bigger than the tent Monty shares with Harper.

Monty’s going slightly crazy from all the attention because he knows how he feels. He likes Miller, in a way that could prove dangerous one day. Miller is a constant, warm presence with a hand on the small of Monty’s back whenever they pass Jasper like he’s scared Jasper might pull out a knife and attack him right in the courtyard. Miller has a dry and almost dark sense of humour and is grumpy and sour at almost all hours of the day so Monty doesn’t know why he’s spending time with him, let alone why Monty likes it so much.

He spends the rest of the day in the engineering hub alone because Raven and Wick aren’t there. No one really knows where they went but those two are always up to something. Bellamy and the guards went hunting the other day and found an old bunker. Bellamy thought it’d be nice to give Monty an old beaten down music player to tinker with since all he’s been doing is focusing on communications so they can find the other stations (and maybe even his parents).

The communications aren’t going so well so the distraction is welcome. Monty can already start playing songs on it. It’s funny, how something so miniscule can survive the bombs and the chaos that followed.

 “Hey,” Bellamy comes into the hub now. He looks so much older, somehow. He hasn’t been sleeping very well, Monty can tell. “Heard you were leaving with Lincoln and O tomorrow.”

“Yeah. And they invited Miller, as well.”

“I know, he told me. If Miller wasn’t such a grump all the time, it would seem like he was excited.”

Monty smiles at that. He looks at Bellamy, face so tired. He misses Clarke and Octavia, who’s still his but is now Lincoln’s, as well. It’s taking a toll on him.

“I’m glad you’re getting out. You haven’t been out since you came back, you’ve refused to go hunting when I ask you,” Bellamy asks.

“Yeah, well, hunting means killing something and I’ve done enough of that.”

“Monty.”

Before Mount Weather, all Bellamy was to them was their leader. Someone untouchable, glided in gold. It might just be Monty and the way they now have a shared pain but Bellamy’s become something more than that. He’s become something of a brother, who makes sure he eats well and covers up in a cardigan when he goes out.

He sits down next to Bellamy. “You should come with us. You deserve a break from this place, from the rest of them. The kids will be fine without you for a few weeks. I know we don’t exactly have a great track record but things have been quiet lately.”

“I can’t leave them,” Bellamy shakes his head. _Not like Clarke did_ , he can almost hear him say.

“It won’t be forever, just a few weeks,” Monty says. “I know Lincoln won’t mind and Octavia would love having you around. Monroe can take care of the kids while you and Miller are gone. I mean, you’re Bellamy, you’re our king and champion, but you haven’t been Bellamy in a while.”

Bellamy gives a weak laugh. “I’ll think about it, kiddo.” He stands and ruffles Monty’s hair like he’s a child before he leaves.

 

He hates Octavia. She’s one of those obnoxious morning people, who barge into your tent just as the sun’s getting up and shake you awake until you want to punch them.

“ _Octavia_ ,” Monty pleads as he tries to hide from the world under his blanket. Harper, who’s sleeping next to him, is oblivious to his pain and snores annoyingly. Most of the camp are ridiculously light sleepers but Harper is one of those lucky people who’d probably sleep through an attack.

Octavia doesn’t let down, though, but she does start packing his clothes and necessities for him. She’s not wearing her face paint today, her skin clear of the black that’s around her eyes usually but she has her customary braids. She looks younger without the face paint, like the girl they saved from the sea monster their first day here, but Monty knows better. He knows she’s capable of saving herself now.

“Come on, you big baby. Everyone’s ready already,” she says.

“Yeah, well, Lincoln and Miller are idiots.” He starts getting dressed, shame be damned while Octavia is there. It’s not like she’ll make a move on him anyway, no one ever has.

“You should be glad it was me who woke you up. Bellamy would probably sit on your head or something.”

“Bellamy’s coming?” Monty asks. “And what do you mean, you totally would sit on me if you wanted to.”

Octavia helps him with his jacket and straps his pack to him. “Yeah, Bellamy’s coming. He left Monroe in charge. I’m glad you told him to come. It’ll be good for him.” Her voice quivers once or twice and Monty pretends not to notice.

When he’s ready, he bends down to give Harper a kiss on a cheek goodbye and tucks her blankets around her. Outside, he can hear the birds chirping and Camp Jaha slowly waking up –the rustle of sheets, the clanking of metal, soft footsteps against the ground. Bellamy, Lincoln and Miller are already assembled in front of the gate and Monty immediately feels inadequate. There’s too much testosterone in this group, he decides.

“Not a morning person?” Miller asks.

“You spend enough time with me to know that,” Monty says. “You guys are too sunshiny and I’m annoyed.”

Miller bows his head to hide a smile. Bellamy looks surprised. “What?” Miller asks.

“Nothing, Miller.  Just nice to see you not hate the world once in a while.”

“Fuck off, Blake.”

“All of you geared up?” an unfamiliar voice says. At the gate is Miller’s dad, wearing a worried expression. “Enough food, enough clothes?”

Monty can see Miller roll his eyes, albeit fondly. “Yes, dad.”

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me. I’m just making sure all of you don’t die out there.”

“We appreciate the concern, Sergeant Miller,” Bellamy says, “but we have faced worse than this.”

Sergeant Miller looks his son over, eyes sad somehow, though his voice is light when he says, “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Well, we can try but no guarantees, though,” Monty says and Miller shoves at him playfully. Sergeant Miller laughs and goes ahead to say goodbye to his son. Their movements and hugs are stilted, Monty notices, but Miller whispers a quick, “Love you, too,” before he goes back to looking guarded. Sergeant Miller sees them off as they go pass the gates and outside.

They start north, pass landscapes Monty knows like the back of his hand. He hasn’t been out of Camp Jaha in weeks, all he’s seen is iron and steel and the system that would’ve floated him if he stayed in the skies. To come back to this –the wide, green expanses of fresh air and crisp winds is almost like coming home. He knows all of these places, has surveyed in during walks with Jasper and strolled around them himself and he feels more at home in the wild than he was in the metal city they left behind.

They pass the area where the dropship landed but don’t go into the compound, which is probably best. Monty looks up and sees the clear skies he fell from.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” Miller asks, suddenly beside him. They’ve been walking in silence, mostly, which isn’t horrible or anything. He finds comfort in the way Bellamy’s boots sound against the ground, how Octavia hums songs under her breath and squeezes Lincoln’s hand every once in a while, like she wants to remind herself she’s there, and the smell of pine around them.

“About what?”

“Dunno. ‘bout how we were dropped here, I guess. Like, we were up there for our whole lives, just rolling around in the orbit and now we’re here, on the ground. It’s a weird set of circumstances,” Miller says.

“A good set, though,” Monty says. “I wouldn’t have wanted to stay stuck in a metal box my entire life. Especially now I know we could’ve come home.”

People from the Ark, especially in recent years, had taken to calling the ground home, as if they could tell every part of them was still part of the earth they left. The old religions said that God made humans out of earth, out of soil, so it was only likely that people started feeling trapped in gravity, so far away from what created them.

“From earth we are borne, to earth we are returned,” Miller recites.

Monty laughs. “So you did pay attention in school.”

“Periodically. Dunno why, but I always paid extra attention to social studies. Liked learning about the people, I guess. That sounds corny.”

“No, it sounds nice.”

Miller smiles and it stirs something in Monty’s gut. Miller’s never been one for starting conversations, he mostly just hums and nods when Monty and Harper talk. It’s no wonder he’s close with Bellamy –sometimes they’re both as monosyllabic as they come. He tells Miller this.

“I like it when you talk,” Monty says, realizing how stupid that sounds right after. “You, uh, you should do it some more.”

“You gonna be around to listen?”

“Yeah, of course.”

They suddenly stop in their journey and Monty finds himself looking at rubble and ash, fallen wooden buildings and graves that look like it was a rush job, just holes dug up and filled. He’s heard the stories from Bellamy and Octavia, about what happened while he was in the Mountain. The Grounder alliance, the missile, the backfiring of the whole thing. He smells the faint stench of rotting bodies and knows immediately where he is.

“TonDC,” Octavia says for him. She stands there, completely still, for a second or two with a hardened look. “She knew about the missile. Clarke.”

Monty feels he should’ve been surprised or at least feel something. But he was there in the control room where they made the same decision: killing people was never part of the plan but sometimes it was necessary.

“I should hate her for that,” Octavia says. Monty can feel her anger from where he is, radiating off her. She’s always been one for feeling things deeply, without reserve or shame. He’s admired that about her, even now, even when all those emotions could prove terrifying. “I should _hate her_ for letting all those people die, letting that happen. I shouldn’t want her to come back.”

Bellamy comes toward her and holds her hand in his. “But you do.”

She gives him a small smile and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. “Guess you can never really hate family.”

“Come,” Lincoln says. “It’s almost nightfall and we should set camp somewhere.”

Octavia nods and trades Bellamy’s hand for Lincoln’s.

“Did you know?” Monty asks Bellamy when they start walking again. “About her and the missiles?”

“Nope.”

“Do you hate her for it?”

“I don’t hate her any more than I hate myself for everything I’ve done,” Bellamy says. “Maybe that’s why I miss her. Monsters always need company.”

Monty wants to say something reassuring, something good, but he finds the words stuck in his throat, unable to come out.

They come to a river running upstream surrounded by lush trees, quiet except for the sounds of the coursing river. They decide to set up their tents here. It’s all good and well until Monty realizes he didn’t pack a tent and Octavia didn’t shove one in while she was packing for him earlier.

“Uh,” he says awkwardly. “Anyone have an extra tent?”

Bellamy tilts his head judgmentally. “Dude.”

“Sorry, Monty, we’re already sharing,” Octavia says.

“You could share with me?” Miller shrugs. “I mean, you could share with Bellamy, if you wanted but he never shares unless you’re having sex with him and I’ve been told he cuddles.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Bellamy says.

“It’s true.”

Monty eyes Miller. “You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I never take up much space and you’re small so I’m not expecting much trouble.”

“Okay. Thanks, Miller.” Monty helps him set up the tent and then Miller decides he and Bellamy are going to the river to wash up and get some water.

Dusk falls around them, a lovely, dusty pink in the sky that turns darker and darker, as Octavia and Lincoln set up the fire soundlessly. They’re so put together, in an indescribable way. It’s the kind of love that should’ve needed time to grow and simmer down to a comfortable ember. They’ve made a life together in the span of a few months.

“Why are you looking at us like that?” Octavia asks with fondness in her voice.

“Nothing. You guys are good together. I love you guys.”

“Aww,” Octavia says. “We love you, too, Monty.”

“Sincerely and undoubtedly so,” Lincoln says. “We’ve debated that, when we marry, we’ll be pronounced husband, wife and Monty Green.”

He throws nuts at them.

“So, where are we venturing to tomorrow? North, south, east, west?” he asks.

“Actually, we figured we’d stay put for a day or two,” Lincoln says.

Monty’s confused. “Be real with me here. Did you go out just to get away from Camp Jaha for a while, the maps be damned?”

“Would you be mad if we said yes?”

“Just the opposite, actually.”

Lincoln glances at him, for a moment, with surprise but it washes away to be replaced with something akin to gratitude.

Miller and Bellamy return to them with more firewood and some packs of water while they heat up some canned soup from Camp Jaha. The fire crackles and Lincoln starts telling them stories. He starts with a love story, eyes trained on all of them as his hands search for Octavia’s.

 _Once upon a time_ , he starts, because all good stories start with that, _there was a girl who lived in a tree. Her hands were scarred, her skin was brown, her eyes spoke of years and years of wilderness. She was something of a human monster, with bloody lips and sharp claws. She lived away from her own people, for she thought they would not accept her for the way she was._

_Only, one day, a silly boy from the river clan got lost in the woods and found shelter by her tree. She didn’t like company, never thought it was any good for her. He told her he would not bother her, he only wanted a safe place to sleep. So she let him sleep, watched him, this human boy with a human soul. He kept coming back, even when he stopped getting lost. Brought her food, brought her gifts, and expected nothing in return._

_This human boy loved so fiercely, so deeply, so unashamedly, she came down from her tree and spoke her first words to a person in years:_ why do you do this?

Maybe because I am much monster as you, I am just better at hiding it.

_And so they loved, and lived._

Love stories are repetitive, Monty realizes. It’s the same story over and over again but people never seem to get tired of it. Monty never has.

When they go to bed that night, with Bellamy taking first watch, it’s awkward and messy. Monty usually sleeps on the right and Miller is more than willing to comply. Miller takes off his beanie and lies down.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m gonna eat you,” Miller says.

Monty just gives a weak smile. He shucks off his jacket and lies down next to Miller. The night’s cold and the tent won’t zip up properly so wind comes in to envelop them, causing Monty to shiver.

“You can come closer,” Miller’s voice is already drowsy, his eyes at half-mast and, fuck, if that’s not cute.

Monty does and, “Shit, you’re like a furnace.”

Miller laughs and moves his arm to fit Monty into his space. It’s like cuddling but not yet. Monty has almost his entire body pressed up against Miller’s but their hands don’t touch, their arms don’t wrap around each other –that feels like something else, something Monty already feels himself wanting, because Miller has been with him through every step of the way, has kept a hand on him and a gun trained on threats since Mount Weather. He wants, he aches, all while Miller sleeps soundlessly next to him. It’s dark but Monty can make out the silhouette of him.  

If Monty was a poet, he’d write lines and lines about this, about how everything grey turned into colour, about the universe exploding behind his eyes and the stars taking the shape of Miller, how the wars swallowed him whole and spit him out only to love this boy. But his hands are only good for pulling the lever.

So he loves, like he always does, like a mirror –reflecting only onto himself.

He falls asleep, warm and a little bit in love, to the sound of Miller’s breathing.

 

Pining has always been a specialty for him so, in the early hours of dawn when they’re both woken up for their turn on watch, the world doesn’t implode –there are no long drawn-out moments of unrequited love as an invisible guitar strums around him, no forlorn soliloquy no one else will listen to. It just becomes second nature, another layer of protection he puts on.

Miller acts no differently; is as chivalrous with helping Monty up whenever he trips clumsily over a rock or something and is as patient when Monty starts debating out loud the physics of the Ark stations making it to the ground (though Miller does tell him to stop doing that, he’s going to worry himself sick over the Agro station). Nothing changes, except now Monty allows himself a few moments a day to sit down quietly and just watch Miller. Not in a creepy way but in a way a scientist might observe a miracle.

His eyes trail along the outline of Miller’s body that’s always hidden under long-sleeve shirt and thick jackets, his jawline when he talks, his roughened hands that always seem to need something to touch –a piece of grass, his gun. Monty’s gotten good at it. Miller hasn’t noticed how Monty’s eyes always find him.

On their second and last day at the river –because Lincoln’s decided to travel east to the sea- Miller and Monty are on guard in last hours of the evening. It’s quiet here. The territory probably doesn’t belong to anyone because they haven’t run into anyone else the time they’re here. Bellamy noticed this and said that being on guard is unnecessary but he still does it. When Monty asked him, Bellamy just said it was nice being alone for a few hours.

“Hey,” Monty says to Miller now. They’ve taken off their boots and their feet are in the cold but not unpleasant water of the river. “Am I interrupting your alone time when I’m on guard with you?”

“Of course not. I like having you around, Monty.”

To Miller, that’s probably as close a declaration of affection as he’ll ever get.

“Hey, didn’t you fix up that music player already? You should play some songs.”

Monty rummages through his pack and comes up with the player. He presses play and it feels so much better. It’s a soft, melodic tune with a man singing. In between the two of them, Monty realizes what the song is about and aches again, in the best way possible. _And I always knew, that I would love you from afar._

When he was a kid and being in love meant being with Jasper, having a crush was like being lit on fire from the inside out. It was anguish and existential crises in steel-locked box, trying to stamp it out by thinking he would burn or love would. But this, this is easier. This is conversations that flow like the river they sit next to and a boy who shields his body with fierce words and a steady grip on a gun. It’s like a different kind of fire –not the one that causes trees to burn or bodies to rot- but the one that keeps them warm on nights the world’s exceptionally cold and cruel.

“I like having you around, too,” Monty says.

Miller smiles and, _god_ , it’s amazing. _This shouldn’t come as a surprise; you’ve got darling hazel eyes._

A rustle in the trees makes Monty jump. He doesn’t pay it much attention –he figures it’s just Bellamy lurking around- until it happens again. Miller is quick to jump to his feet and pull Monty up, as well.

“Who is it?” Miller asks. He stands in front of Monty, an arm to keep Monty back.

No answer. Monty does the first thing he thinks of and says, “Ai laik Monty kom Skaikru,” like Lincoln taught him. The words are unfamiliar in his mouth but it gains no more attention than speaking English did.

There’s still movement in the trees and it doesn’t stop until it’s closer to them.

“I’m going to get Bellamy,” Monty says.

“No way.” Miller grips onto him, tight. “It’s a ten-minute walk back to them and who knows who’s out there? I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Hearing that does stupid things to his heart. _Priorities, Green_.

There’s a figure close to them now and Miller aims his gun at them. “Come out.”

They do. Monty gasps audibly. “Miller, don’t shoot.”

“Isn’t that-?”

“Yeah.”

Monty lets go of Miller’s grip and walks towards the figure. Wells looks beaten up, blood on his face, and his face is pale and sunken. But he’s here and he’s alive and Monty has no fucking clue what to do.

“Wells,” Monty says softly.

Wells, whose eyes were darting here and there, focuses on him. “Monty?”

“Wells, what happened to you? We thought you –you died.”

“Mount Weather. They...I don’t know what they did. But I got out and everyone was dead. Everyone. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. Monty, what happened?”

“It’s a long story.” Monty turns back to Miller. “Go back to camp, tell Bellamy.”

Miller is wary to leave him alone but he does it anyway. Monty focuses on Wells again, the ghost of the boy he knew once, if he ever knew him at all. Wells had been one of them for a handful of days until he became a body they had to bury.

“Monty, where’s Clarke?” Wells asks.

“One step at a time, Wells.”

Wells’ body feels heavier against Monty now than it did when they had to lower him into his grave.

 

They leave Wells with Lincoln, who’s the only one who didn’t know him because that’s the best course of action right now.

“What the hell?” are Bellamy’s first words when they enter Octavia and Lincoln’s tent. “And I mean, what the everloving fucking hell?”

“I have no idea,” Monty says. “All he said was that Mount Weather did stuff to him.”

“Meaning what? They...brought him back from the dead?”

“The fuck if we know,” Miller says. “But, come on, if it’s gotta be anyone, Mount Weather would be the first on my list to actually succeed at reanimation.”

“Maybe he just needs some time to recuperate from everything. Maybe he’ll tell us more when he gets some rest,” Octavia supplies.

Bellamy looks cautious. “But we can’t just-” He breathes, in and out, but his fists are still balled up like he wants to punch someone. “I killed him, O. Whether or not Charlotte held the knife, I was the one who put the thought in her head. Wells would’ve lived if it wasn’t for me.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“Clarke was the only one who knew him. I can’t...” his voice trails away, words lost in his mouth.

Monty steps up, he has to. “But it’s not about you. We have a responsibility to him. Even after everything we’ve been through, isn’t he still one of us?”

“Of course he is.” Octavia nods.

“Then it’s settled. We take care of him and bring him back to Camp Jaha when we’re done.” Miller nudges Bellamy. “Listen, what happened with him and Charlotte –it was shit but he’s here now, he’s alive. You can make it up to him by not letting him die out here alone.”

Bellamy’s faced wars, bloodthirsty enemies, has survived a fall from the sky to become leader but it’s possible Monty has never seen him properly scared until now. He tries to make light and says, “Guess I have to share my tent now.”

“Well, you bet I’m not trading Monty,” Miller says. Monty tries his hardest not to blush.

 

Octavia was right. As they start to pack up, Wells, after spending the last night sharing Bellamy’s tent with no loud arguments or complaints, tells them what happened. He looks better today, more alive. There’s colour to his face and his hands aren’t shaking like they were yesterday. Monty wonders if Bellamy told Wells anything yesterday.

Wells tells them that the Mountain Men took all the bodies they buried to try to reanimate them around the same time they captured Clarke and the others. He doesn’t remember what they did to him, only that he was the only survivor from the experiments.

“Next thing I knew, I got enough strength to break out and everyone was dead,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Bellamy says. Wells just smiles. So maybe Bellamy did tell him what went down in the Mountain.

They start walking east, towards the sea, where Lincoln tells them there is a clan there led by a woman named Luna who will keep them safe. Monty vaguely remembers this was their escape plan before the Grounders attacked the first time. He remembers Miller saying he wanted to go surfing.

Miller now always asks Monty to switch on the music player whenever he can, even while they walk. Monty isn’t sure if the battery he put in will last the whole journey but it’s worth it if he can see Miller hum the tunes next to him.

Every night, they set up camp where they can and Monty finds himself coming closer and closer to Miller when they sleep. Bellamy’s been hanging out with Wells more, until they’re close to being friends. The guilt that weighed Bellamy down when Wells started coming with them simmered down to accommodate for a new person for him to love.

It happens one night, almost a week into their journey, when Monty gets up to pee in the middle of the night and sees it. Bellamy and Wells are alone by the fire, everyone else asleep, and Wells is the one who moves first but Bellamy doesn’t back away. They kiss as the fire crackles around, the embers making them look golden.

Nothing changes and Monty isn’t sure if it was supposed to because it’s not like Bellamy and Wells suddenly kiss around them or anything. Maybe it was just a one-time thing, a mistake, but Bellamy is softer around Wells.

But then again, everyone is.

Wells has kind hands that are still scarred and gives away smiles like little tokens of affection. He gives Monty a special brew of herbs to calm his nightmares, constantly touches Bellamy because it looks like the guy needs a tether to something real, and looks so interested and amazed by Lincoln’s drawings and stories.

 _Camp Jaha_ , Monty thinks, _was named after the wrong Jaha_.

 

 


	2. the seas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoooooooo thank u all for the lovely comments. i mean to reply but goddamn the internet in my school slow like hella i'm pretty sure i tried replying like ten thousand times but it couldn't go through. i didn't think anyone would actually like this but i'm glad you did <3 i actually got the chance to link the songs in this chapter so if it's at all possible you should listen while you read because u kno ~ambiance~
> 
> also: for those not in the know, demisexuality is an orientation wherein someone does not experience sexual attraction until a strong, emotional connection is first developed.

 

They’re so close that Monty can smell the salt of the sea whenever he wakes up.

It’s been a full week away from Camp Jaha but Monty likes living like this: in each other’s pockets and heartbeats, packing up every night and walking through foreign but beautiful landscapes during the day. They have almost a routine down.

Wells, too, looks stable for the most part but there are some moments during the day where he completely spaces out and his face turns blank of any expression. Sometimes, he’s carrying firewood and he just drops them to the ground without any word, other times he’s in the middle of a perfectly normal conversation when he stops talking, as if the words aren’t part of him anymore. Bellamy always coaxes him out of these episodes, thinks it’s a side effect of whatever Mount Weather did to him, which is understandable because Wells has scars on his arms he doesn’t want to explain.

“Wells,” Bellamy says one time it happens. They were in the middle of dinner this time, Wells’ movement halting mid-chew. No one else knows what to do. “You’re here, you’re safe.”

Wells blinks, once, twice, before his smile comes back like waves. “I’m sorry I keep doing that. It’s messed up.”

“You can be as messed up as you want, I’ll still be there when you wake up. Now, eat up. We don’t want Lincoln to think we don’t like his food, do we?”

“This is a traditional dish in my clan, it is not that bad,” Lincoln says defensively.

“Of course it isn’t, babe,” Octavia deadpans though she still looks at the dish like it’s going to eat _her_.

Monty can’t help a laugh and Miller, next to him, shoves at him jokingly. This horrible crush would be easier to control if Miller wasn’t such a secret sweetheart. Monty thinks he’ll probably get over the almost drowning feeling he gets whenever Miller is close to him if he just distanced himself from how Miller feels (warm, firm, constant) and how he smells (pinecones, dirt, but, somehow, so sweet until he can almost taste it on his tongue). But that’s a bit difficult to do when they share a tent and Monty always wakes up with Miller closer to him than he was the night before.

It’s hard to pin down but Miller always seems a bit different when they’re alone in their tent together. Less mad at the world, probably. The rough parts are still here –they’re always going to be there, it’s a side effect of growing up the way he did- but they’re now accompanied by his husky voice that demands a song to be replayed and replayed like he’s a kid asking for a bedtime story; by his hands that touch Monty’s side just when he’s about to sleep, like he thinks Monty won’t notice.

When they finally get to the sea, it’s not everything Monty’s ever dreamed of. It’s better. He breathes, the salty wind clinging to his skin, and everything is amazing. The water is clear and dazzling as the afternoon sun hits it. Lincoln says they’re not near the river clan yet but he wants to spend some time here to sketch. They’re alone again, just their little band of misfits, in a beach that belongs only to them. At least for the next few days.

The rest feel the same excitement Monty does and they practically strip the minute they see the water, whooping in joy. Bellamy hangs back for a bit, wary, until Octavia tugs him into the water, fully clothed.

When Monty first wades into the water, he lets out an embarrassing, “Ahhh,” sound because it feels so good and Miller chuckles.

“Shut up,” Monty says, trying not to get distracted by the fact that Miller’s not wearing a shirt at the moment but his mind just goes, _fuck, look at those perky nipples_. To cover up that he’s been staring like a loon, he splashes water in Miller’s face.

“Oh, it’s on, Green.” Miller comes towards him and picks him up without warning and Monty means, really picking up, like over his shoulder picking him up. It only lasts for a moment before Miller drops him back in the sea, water enveloping him whole.

He barely registers Octavia reprimanding Miller when he resurfaces but Monty just laughs. He’s soaked completely head to toe and all Miller can say is, “Good look for you.”

Monty just splashes more water on him.

Later, hours later, it would seem, as the day turns dark, they all sit on the sand and look at the sunset. Octavia is wrapped up in Lincoln’s arms and whatever thing Bellamy and Wells are going through makes them sit ten times closer to each other. Monty feels odd now, stilted. All he has is this hopeless crush in the form of the beautiful boy sitting next to him, not even deigning to wear a shirt, looking out into the endless, blue horizon.

The sky is orange and blue and a million other colours. He was up there once. He was part of the sky. He was one of the stars Grounders saw when they looked up.

He looks at Miller and the world isn’t so hopeless. Especially when Miller leans close to him and whispers, “I have sand on my ass. Like how is that possible? I wore pants the entire time.”

“Karma, bitch.”

Miller laughs and Monty can feel the sound in his ribcage. Something is different, somehow. Monty used to love him sweet, the way kids do, the way he’s always loved Jasper. Nothing more than chaste kisses and sharing warmth at night. But now, but now –he feels something rattling inside him, a magnet pulling him towards Miller. A hunger he’s never felt before, one so deep and visceral Monty can feel it travelling up and down his spine, in his gut, in his hands that desperately want to _touch, touch, touch_.

Miller’s mouth is pink and looks so sweet.

Love was never this for him. Love never came with the side effect of wanting to reach out and feel and get lost in someone else’s body. It’s making Monty a little light-headed.

“You okay?” Miller asks.

“Yeah, oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. Gonna turn in early, I think,” Monty says.

Miller’s brows are still furrowed in worry. “Okay. I’ll be there in a second.”

“No, stay. Stay as long as you want.”

He dreams of skin against skin, red lips on his neck; loud, breathy sounds and hands gripping his thighs, holding him down; a deep voice saying his name. He wakes up with a wet spot in front of his pants that he doesn’t know how to explain. Luckily, Miller is still sleeping next to him.

Monty gets up, managing not to wake Miller up and goes outside. It’s not morning yet but there are traces of light in the sky. He doesn’t know who’s on watch but he prays whoever it is doesn’t catch him taking off his pants to wash.

“Monty?”

Ah, fuck.

“Heyyyy, Lincoln,” he says, maybe a bit too loudly. He tugs his sweatshirt down to hopefully cover the front of his pants but Lincoln notices and raises an eyebrow.

“Did you, uh, have an accident?”

“Kind of? I’m so sorry, this is embarrassing.”

“It happens to the best of us, my friend. Take those off. I think Octavia just washed some clothes, they’ll fit you just fine.” Lincoln is so nice Monty feels like crying. When it’s all said and done, Monty does sniffle a bit.

He doesn’t know whose pants he’s wearing but they’re a little big on him. He doesn’t know why but that makes him feel like crying even more. He’s surrounded by these big and tough guys all day and he’s just tiny. He’s clumsy with an axe, he hates guns, he’s not any kind of soldier.

“What’s wrong?” Lincoln asks.

 _Everything._ “I think I want sex.”

Lincoln looks at him, confused. “That’s not wrong, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just –I’ve never wanted sex. I see attractive people and, sure, they’re nice to look at but I’ve never wanted it, you know? Was fine without it. Didn’t even want it but now? Was I just late to the whole, raging-hormones-that-come-with-being-a-teenager thing?”

“Maybe you never loved someone enough to want it. Not to say that you have to have sex to love someone. There are people in my clan who only have sex to have children but, perhaps, your body is telling you to wait for someone special,” Lincoln says.

“How cheesy.”

Lincoln bows his head, laughing. “Perhaps but it could be true. Maybe your connection with...this person is the strongest you’ve ever felt and you now need to act on that physically, like you never needed to before.” The way he says ‘this person’ makes Monty think that Lincoln knows. Who is he kidding, Lincoln totally knows.

“That sucks,” Monty says.

“Love can make you feel like that sometimes.”

“But you and Octavia...”

“We love each other, yes, but the world has been playing a dangerous game of trying to pull us apart since we met. It’s never easy to find someone you would raze the world for. That kind of love destroys you, but it’s also the kind of love that puts you back together.” Lincoln’s eyes turn to his tent, where Octavia is still sleeping. “But I never quite belonged anywhere until I found her.”

Monty understands, Lincoln has talked before about how he doesn’t really agree with his clan’s ways sometimes but it used to be the only way he could live. Lincoln is so willing to live anywhere now, the woods, the rivers, the skies, as long as Octavia is with him. Home, for him, isn’t walls or rules –it’s her heartbeat against his.

They stay up until morning talking, about everything, about nothing. Miller wakes up and sits next to him. Monty catches him staring.

“What?”

“Are you wearing my pants?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah, I guess I am.”

Lincoln is quick to answer. “He was helping me carry some firewood in and fell into a puddle of mud. It smelled horribly.”

“Clumsy,” Miller says fondly.

 

Miller looks so at home near the ocean. He and Bellamy insist on going swimming every morning and the two of them come home with sand on their toes and salt on their skin. The humidity makes Miller forget what clothes are, apparently, so he just goes around wearing nothing but his boxers. Monty finds himself staring more than a few times. He has found a new way to want: endlessly and forever.

One evening, it’s just the two of them. Bellamy is off with Wells doing god knows what and Lincoln has gone sketching while Octavia hunts. The beach is just for them. Monty doesn’t really swim, though he does take off his boots and lets the waves touch his toes when they come, so he just watches as Miller dives deep and comes up for air, the water glistening against him like it’s one of those mythical creatures he’s heard Bellamy talk about.

It hurts to love like this, to want so much, all the while knowing that he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve to be in the same vicinity as this boy who, for some reason, hasn’t stopped caring for him. He doesn’t; because, every time he closes his eyes, he sees that lever and knows that, even if Bellamy and Clarke weren’t there, he would’ve made the same decision. Every time he sleeps, he thinks about Maya, Maya who saved all of them, asking, “What were we supposed to do?” and him answering, “Die.” _Die, die, die_. Broken bodies over dining tables, blaring red lights and insistent alarms. He did that to them. He made it possible for Bellamy and Clarke to pull the lever.

Where did Clarke get off thinking she was the only person feeling the weight of the people they killed?

“Monty?” Miller asks, bringing him back to reality.

“Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About Mount Weather?”

Monty looks at him, surprised. It’s silence between them for a while, save for the song that’s playing on the music player. The girl singing is talking about a great love, [ _say you'll see me again, even if it's just in your wildest dreams._](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vf-MW_gl6TU)

“I’m the one sharing a tent with you, Monty. I can hear you when you have nightmares.”

“You never said.”

“I usually just hold you until the shaking stops.”

“Oh.” Monty feels his cheeks heat. “Sorry.”

Miller shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for. You’re mostly just skin and bones but it’s not like it’s a pain to cuddle with you or anything. I like it, as a matter of fact.”

Monty doesn’t know what to say. 

When Miller says something, he doesn’t look at Monty, but at the point where sea and sky meet. His normal, rough voice softens into shades of indescribable longing. “You gotta know, right? God, you gotta know, you idiot.”

“Know what?” Monty can’t help but ask.

Miller smiles, sad around the eyes. “I look at you and you’re everything and, fuck, I’ve never been good enough for that. Never did anything good enough or kind enough to even look at you the way I do but then you smile and you’re like the sun and I think, man, I wanna spend forever in your orbit. So you gotta know, you _have_ to know, just how fucking incredible I think you are.”

He doesn’t know where he finds the strength, when he’s been mostly scared all his life, but he leans forward and does the only thing he’s wanted to do for weeks. Miller tastes like the ocean, salty and dangerous and addictive, and Monty wants to drown in him.

Miller finds his eagerness and kisses back, desperate, urgent, as if Monty’s the only thing that can save him. His arms pull Monty closer to him.

“Miller...” Monty says, the combination of Miller’s lips on his neck and his hands trailing at his sides making him heady. “I don’t...I don’t-”

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Green.”

Monty touches his cheek. “I don’t deserve this, not after what I did.”

“So I get to be your penance,” Miller mutters as his hands, still wet from his swim, find their way under Monty’s shirt. “I’ve always been a no-good sinner.”

He laughs, or tries to, which is difficult when the subject of his fantasies and teenage angst is trying to rub up against him in any way he can. “Not exactly penance if I want it.”

“You want it, huh?”

“You, _oh_ -” hands in good places –“you know I do.”

Miller’s strong, he’s known this, but he so effortlessly pulls Monty on top of him, all the while still kissing him that it gets to his head. It’s almost unfair, how Monty is fully clothed and Miller just wearing his boxers but Miller’s not complaining. He is the furthest away from complaining because when Monty kisses him fast while he stirs his hips –well, Miller makes this loud moan which is definitely the best thing he’s ever heard in his entire life and he vows to make Miller sound like that all the damn time.

[The soft song changes into something that has a strong bass](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iD_qRi-jVw4) and it’s almost like Miller’s been paying attention to the music because he gets more enthusiastic, as if he knows now Monty won’t let go of him.

“God, look at you,” Miller says, groans, actually. “You make me hungry.”

“That sounds vaguely cannibalistic.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean. Like, I want to feel you in my bones, in my blood, I want to feel you everywhere. I need you-” Miller kisses down his neck, his chest, where his heart flutters at those words. Then, softer, “I _need_ you.”

“I need you, too,” he says. “But can we-? Slow down?”

Miller blinks and he smiles again, slow –it’s like seeing the sun rise. “If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m kinda stupid for you, Monty Green, so anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

His hearts blooms, all-encompassing, around those words, but he finds his laughter again when he hears the song. “This song is ridiculous, why are we even making out to it?”

“I say it’s just ridiculous enough.” So Monty lets it be.

“Hey,” Monty says, getting an idea. “Carry me back to the tent.”

“What?”

“It’s like a fantasy of mine, okay? Like you’re big guy, I bet you could lift me up easy.”

Miller throws his head back, laughing, exposing the long line of his neck. “You are _ridiculous_.”

“Carry me,” Monty says more firmly.

“Well,” Miller draws out the word, “I think I’m gonna like you telling me what to do.”

And isn’t that something.

Miller switches off the music player before he loops his arms around Monty and carries him. Monty must weigh next to nothing to him because Miller doesn’t even look like he’s exerting himself. Miller lays him down on the sleeping bed in their tent and hovers over him, arms on either side of him.

They kiss until the sun goes down.

 

“Miller,” Bellamy says the next morning over breakfast. “What’s up with your face?”

“What’s wrong with my face?” Miller snaps.

“It’s all smiley and happy,” Bellamy says. “It’s disconcerting.”

“Bite my ass.”

“Now that’s my boy.”

Today marks the last stretch of their journey to the River Clan. It’ll be weird to be around other people. They’ve been all each other’s company for the past week or so that it’s odd to imagine anyone else in their world. They’ve gotten used to each other, their mannerisms and habits. Monty knows by heart the mantra Lincoln recites before he sleeps, though he doesn’t know what it means; knows how Octavia cleans her weapons and sings at the same time; the way Wells shuts off because he has his tells and everyone knows by now to leave him alone when that happens; how Bellamy still looks into the woods sometimes like he’s waiting for someone; Miller’s favourite song.

To share all of that with others feels bewildering.

Miller assures him it’ll be alright because ever since this _thing_ between them, Monty has taken to talking about anything that pops into his head, mostly because he’s noticed Miller likes it when Monty talks incessantly.

In expanses where even Lincoln doesn’t know where they are, Bellamy and Miller always take guard at the front while Lincoln and Octavia watch the back, leaving Monty and Wells, the only two not trained in combat, right in the middle. It’s not unpleasant, it’s just that Monty doesn’t know him very well. He knows that Wells is kind and moral; that he kisses Bellamy when he thinks no one is watching and he is –was- the Chancellor’s son.

Bellamy was right; no one really knew Wells except Clarke.

“Hey, so, uh,” Monty tries to make conversation, “how are you?”

“I’m fine, Monty,” Wells says. “Sorry I haven’t been much a talker.”

“No, that’s completely understandable. At least you talk to Bellamy. I assume. Because otherwise, what else are you two doing for all that time alone?” And then Monty puts it together and blushes a deep red.

Wells chuckles. “We talk, Monty. He tells me things.” He pauses. “Things that I might not necessarily like to hear but things I have to hear. About Charlotte, about my father, about Mount Weather. a lot of things have happened while I was...gone.”

“Too much, in my opinion. This trip has been the first time in a long time I could breathe.”

“Yeah, me too. even before the ground...being the Chancellor’s son put you in a glass box that people liked to watch into. I came down for Clarke, I died for my father’s sins; I think this is the first time I’ve gotten to live for myself, which is a good feeling, I’ve got to say.”

“It looks like it. Being in the wild like this makes you feel freer, doesn’t it? Away from everything.”

Wells doesn’t say anything but his gentle smile is enough. It’s moments like these Monty dreads going back to Camp Jaha. Wells, the son of the man the camp was named after, a legacy onto himself, might not breathe or smile like this again. And Monty’s seen how happy he can be when he’s swimming in the ocean or trying to climb trees. He doesn’t want that boy to disappear, swallowed by old-world rules and responsibilities.

The rest of the walk to the River Clan is uneventful, though Monty does relish in the fact that he can now reach out and hold Miller’s hand whenever he so pleases. Miller usually pulls a face but lets Monty do it, anyway.

Lincoln stops when they reach a cove, made up of crudely-made huts and the ocean nearby. The people here look different from Lincoln’s clan. Their tattoos are different, their banner is a different pattern; their smiles are more effortless. They still look a tad murderous but less likely to execute those wishes.

A lightly-tanned woman greets them, her braided hair flowing down her back, who pulls Lincoln into a deep embrace when he says the customary words.

“Nice to see you, friend,” she says.

“And to you, Luna,” Lincoln returns the gesture. “Hope you don’t mind I brought company.”

“Of course not. Any friend of Lincoln’s is a friend of ours. No need for pesky alliances and politics. Besides, some of your company arrived beforehand.”

“What company?” Bellamy asks.

“Sky People, two of them,” Luna answers. “They are not with you?”

Lincoln shares a look with Bellamy. “Not that we know of. Are they still here?”

Luna nods and ushers them into her village. It’s lively here, people just going about their lives. Monty realizes he never saw anyone from Lincoln’s do anything but try to kill them. Grounders are people, too; Monty never really realized until now. There are women bouncing children on their laps, little boys putting face paint on each other while giggling, and teenagers sewing clothes in the corner. Not all acts of humanity are acts of war.

They stop in front of a hut, about as nondescript as they come, where Luna knocks on the door. Bellamy and Octavia are cautious, they have their weapons and hands on their significant others, just in case. Despite this, Monty’s not scared. Whoever’s in there identified as a Sky Person, probably knowing how dangerous that would be.

But, when the door opens, he wishes he was prepared enough for this.

“Clarke,” he says. This trip is just made for messy reunions.

A big part of him wishes all the anger he had towards Clarke would wash away, be replaced with the relief of seeing her again; he wants to push past everyone and hug her, like he did that first day in Mount Weather but then he remembers she left. She left him and Bellamy and all of them.

“Fucking,” Bellamy curses. “I could hit you right now.”

“You’d be right to,” Clarke says. Monty had assumed that, whenever they saw her again, she’d look terrible. Pale lips, tangled hair, bloodshot eyes. Maybe it’s his anger but he just wanted her to look as horrible as he feels. But she looks good, healthier, even. She looks like she’s been eating more, colour is high on her cheeks. This is the Clarke he loved. Her eyes search all of them until they finally land on Wells. “Wells?”

“Seems like we got a lot to talk about,” Octavia says. “How about you let us in?”

Another figure comes up next to Clarke. “Come on in,” Raven says.

 

So, Bellamy’s furious.

“How could you not tell me?”

Monty really doesn’t know he’s yelling at but he’s yelling. Loudly.

Probably to Raven, because she’s the one who answers. “Look, she found a way to contact me a few weeks ago, around the time you left. Didn’t want me to tell anyone. I thought I’d at least respect her choices after what she went through.”

“What _we_ went through,” Bellamy says. He turns to Clarke now. “I know I’m the one who let you go but running away was selfish. You think I don’t feel horrible, too? You think Monty doesn’t have nightmares? You think those people that you left don’t need and miss you like hell?”

“I know, I...”

“She needed someone neutral and she called me,” Raven says.

“Please, you are _not_ neutral.”

“Well, which one of us is yelling right now?”

Bellamy pauses, looks down on himself and breathes. No one else in the room knows how to react, knows what to do. Monty’s angry himself but he can’t blow up like this, he doesn’t know how. He’s just letting Bellamy become the fire for both of them. Even Wells doesn’t move towards Bellamy like he usually does. It’s almost as if he blanked out again, having one of his episodes, but his eyes are clear, directed at Clarke, who’s not looking back.

Raven’s face softens. “She needed some time. I got that. I didn’t tell you because she told me not to. I love her, so I’m gonna protect her.”

Bellamy doesn’t even miss a beat. “So do I, so does Wells. If she wanted to run, I get that but we’re not her enemies. Anywhere...” he looks down now, as if the words are hard to say, “anywhere she would’ve gone, we would’ve followed.”

Because Monty gets it now. Things right now aren’t rife with destruction or war –they can breathe and live as they please in Camp Jaha, only they _can’t_. Bellamy, who works best in hurricanes and thunder crackling at his feet, finds no comfort in being boxed back into the same black uniform as the people who locked his sister up. Home isn’t Camp Jaha for him; home isn’t the bare skeletons of a crashed Ark –it’s all of them, together, and whenever Bellamy pictures a ‘them’, Clarke is always there.

Static comes between them, in the form of a radio on the table.

“Who is that?” Octavia asks.

“The walkie is connected to Camp Jaha,” Raven says. She gets up to take it but Bellamy reaches first.

“Raven, are you there?” Monty recognizes the sound of Abby’s voice.

“Dr Griffin, it’s Bellamy,” Bellamy says.

“Bellamy. How’d you find Raven? Thought she went on a hunting trip.”

Bellamy quirks an eyebrow. “Stroke of luck. Any news?”

“The communications system upgrade that Monty Green put in worked,” Abby says and Monty immediately stands up. “Without Mount Weather jamming us, we’ve been getting some distorted messages. Only managed to decipher them today. Agro station landed on the ground. Close to a hundred survivors.”

Monty wants to cry. Close to a hundred survivors. Two of them could be his parents.

“Where?” Bellamy asks.

“Actually, not too far from where you’re supposed to be. I’ll send you the coordinates.”

Miller, who’s been silent all this while, grips onto his shoulder. “Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

“More than. If my parents...god, you’re gonna love them.”

“Meeting the parents, huh? Think they’ll like me?”

“They have to.” Monty reaches up to kiss him, soft, and then remembers they’re in a room full of people.

“Fuck, that’s cute,” Raven says. “Who knew Miller had a heart?”

Miller pulls his patented sour face. “Fight me, Reyes.” It’s not that threatening when Miller still has his arms wrapped around Monty, though.

Bellamy ends the conversation with Abby and turns back to them. “All of you get some rest. We’ll go out early tomorrow to get to Agro station.”

Everyone but Wells, Clarke and Raven make a move to leave. Outside, Octavia breathes out. “Intense,” she says. “Anyone else feel like their parents are fighting?”

“Definitely,” Miller supplies.

 

Later, after dinner shared with the River Clan, Monty comes into Bellamy’s hut, where he’s still awake.

“Monty. Everything okay?” he says, sleep in his voice. Monty doesn’t talk at first because Wells is sleeping soundly next to Bellamy. “Oh, don’t worry about Wells. He sleeps like the dead.” Him saying that makes Monty miss Harper. 

“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright. That you and Clarke and Raven aren’t...”

“Breaking up? No, we’re good, Monty. It’s just gonna be tough for a little while. They’re coming with us to find Agro, you know.”

“That’s...that’s good.”

Bellamy knits his eyebrows in concern. “I know you’re still mad at her, I am, too. But we’re all each other has now. Can’t afford to be making enemies out of our own people. Maybe, one day, it’ll be better.”

“Not today, though,” Monty says because he can try as hard as he can but when he goes to sleep tonight, he’ll probably have another nightmare and Miller will be there to hold him tight. “Anyway, just wanted to check up on you. Goodnight, _hyung_.”

“What does that mean?”

“Big brother, in Korean.” He only has a handful of Korean words he knows by heart, some of them slowly dying away because he doesn’t have anyone else who speaks it. “Means, it doesn’t matter if we find my parents or not. You’re family now, too.”


	3. the cityscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i chickened out of writing a full-on sex scene pls forgive. also forgive the cheesy song i chose. 
> 
> this fic will have a soundtrack btw!! it will go up the same time the last chapter, which is an epilogue of sorts, goes up. thanks everyone for the kind comments and love <3

Bellamy barges into their hut without much warning the next morning.

“Miller, get up,” Bellamy orders in his king-voice. Monty hasn’t heard that voice in a while, Bellamy never had to order him to do anything and Miller’s been more than just subordinate to Bellamy.

Miller groans into Monty’s chest. Last night was the first time in a long time they all didn’t need to be periodically woken up for guard because they were among friends here. The River Clan, though some of them still don’t speak English, are friendlier than most and already have a patrol-like party on rotation. Miller took advantage of that and kissed him lazily, kept nosing at his neck and touching him all over, in the most addictive way. He kept talking last night, too, which is a rare but always welcome occurrence. So now, he’s all tuckered out. It’s pretty cute, actually.

Bellamy doesn’t think so, though. “ _Miller_.”

“I’ll get him up, go get the rest,” Monty says, even if he’s still stroking down Miller’s back, trying to lull him back to sleep. Bellamy just nods silently and leaves. He looks down, where Miller has pretty much been sleeping on top of him, his legs swung over his and his head on Monty’s chest. “You sleep like a fucking octopus. I thought you said you didn’t take up much space.”

“That was before you, dumbass. Now I just wanna be all over you.”

Monty snorts. “You’re such a teenage boy,” he says. “Get up, though, really. Bellamy sounds pissed.”

“He always sounds pissed. The only time he’s not pissed is when he’s with Wells or shooting for fun.” Miller grumbles. “And you feel nice.”

“You’re affectionate.”

“Only with you.”

Monty kisses the top of his head. “Come on, you big lug. Things to do.”

Eventually, they do get ready, Miller trailing behind him as Monty walks towards their group, where they surround Lincoln, who’s saying goodbye to Luna. Monty wishes they could’ve stayed here longer. He likes it here, the River Clan is nice and he’s never felt more at home than near the water. He should be scared of it, really, since his first experience with it starred a giant sea monster that almost bit Octavia’s leg off but he’s been on the ground long enough to know the terrifying things are beautiful, too.

Camp Jaha is nowhere near the sea.

Their group leaves, each of them speaking the native tongue of Luna’s clan as a passing goodbye. The coordinates Abby gave them lead them west, away from the sea. Even Lincoln hasn’t ventured that far but he’s more than willing to scope out new lands to sketch and draw. The maps he’s drawn so far are beautiful, sweeping landscapes marked with green dots or hills, bodies of water coloured with the muted blue of his paints. He hasn’t named all of the places yet because he doesn’t know some of them so he’s taken to naming them after people.

One in particular, which marks the beach where they camped on, is named First Kiss in Lincoln’s language, after Miller and Monty. It made Monty blush but he realizes no one in Camp Jaha speaks Grounder anyway, so they won’t be any the wiser.

Bellamy tells them it’s going to be a long trek but no one complains. Clarke and Raven are especially quiet, though Monty’s trying not to notice them. It’s not that hard when Miller is next to him, holding his hand and listening to him talk but when Bellamy calls him upfront for guard, it’s almost like Clarke takes that as her cue to come to him.

“So,” she says. “You and Miller?”

“Yeah,” Monty says, with as much resentment as he can, but he’s never been good at threats like this. He still loves her.

“A lot of things have changed.”

“Did you expect us to just be pining for you?”

Clarke looks hurt. “No, of course not. I’m sorry I left, Monty, but you understand why, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do. And I forgive you, Clarke. What we did in that control room was a joint decision, we should’ve gotten through it together. You shouldn’t have just left. We were a family.”

She touches his arm, light. “We still are.”

And Monty wants to believe that so badly but he knows what it feels like to hurt others now, has seen the bodies he helped kill, has gotten blood on his hands and mouth that won’t wash out. He wants to believe in fairytale endings and sunshine after darkness and he’s been trying so hard to. He kisses Miller and thinks this can last; he wakes up every morning trying to make the best out of it, but, sometimes, he thinks, maybe he fell out of the sky only to burn up in its atmosphere.

“I guess that depends on where you go after this,” he says. He catches Miller’s eye while he’s on the front and the smile on Miller’s face from joking with Bellamy dissolves when he sees Monty.

Wordlessly, he comes to Monty’s side, puts a hand on the small of his back and leads him away from Clarke. He holds his hand after, even though Monty knows it takes a while for Miller to get used to public displays like this. Monty is so grateful for him.

“You are a ray of sunshine, Nathan Miller,” he says.

Miller laughs. “Right back at ya.”

 

Bellamy and Lincoln must not know where they were headed because once they arrive about a day away from where Agro landed, they’re just as stunned as Monty is.

“We’re in _a city_ ,” he breathes out because it is so unimaginable to him. There are sweeping buildings all around him, some of them towering high above his head; roads and streets that seem endless now that no one uses them. For the most part, it looks intact –not too damaged by war and weather- though Monty does feel he’s walking through a concrete graveyard.

He doesn’t care much, though, because he looks up and the metal tips of some of the buildings seem to touch the sky. Skyscrapers, he remembers the word for it. Aptly named.

All they’ve seen for the past few weeks are landscapes of green and blue, salt on their lips and dirt under their fingernails, so Monty feels almost relieved to see steel, iron and manmade infrastructures that make him feel smaller than usual. The streets are empty of human life, save for them, but they’re filled with remnants of it. Little bits of paper, clothes, automobiles; boxes stuffed with things packed with a rush.

“Why didn’t we know this was here?” Octavia wonders aloud.

“My clan said this area was off-limits,” Lincoln replies. “I don’t think anyone’s claimed it, though.”

“How far does this stretch?” Miller asks.

No one answers; they’re too excited. Monty can feel it in the air. He doesn’t know why –it’s been 97 years, the medicine and supplies would’ve gone bad already although they can take the clothes if they want. Maybe it’s just the fact that all of this, despite it all, is still here and theirs for the taking. Through everything, this is something humans left behind. More than the destruction of the bombs and the growth of new woods and forests that followed, but something they built themselves. It makes Monty hope, in the strangest kind of way.

Bellamy and Clarke share a look, as if scared by all this quiet. Monty doesn’t know the extent of Bellamy’s forgiveness but maybe this joint leadership is something they carry in their bones now –something even storms can’t destroy.  Bellamy asks all of them to scope out the area and Clarke even asks Raven to check her radios for any nearby signals that might mean trouble.

Everyone pairs up seamlessly. It should be hilarious, really, how everyone has someone, like an old song he heard once. He and Miller find an old beaten down car and laugh when the hinges of the door completely come off when they try to open it. He’s still laughing when Miller loops an arm around him and kisses him in the backseat of the car.

Miller smiles against his lips. Monty feels high on it.

“Crazy how all this still exists, huh?” Monty asks, wonder in his blood even as Miller is kissing his neck. “Just imagine what we can make with everything in this city. Bet we could make our own civilization just from this crap. A kingdom built on scrap metal.”

“And where would I fit in this new world of yours?” Miller asks playfully.

“Easy. You get to be the finest knight in all of the land.” Monty starts laughing again, imagining Miller in chainmail. “But, also, like, my personal servant so I can keep you in my room and by my side all the time.”

Miller kisses his jaw. “Don’t need to be your servant to make me do that. Pretty sure I’m already spoken for.” Miller’s voice is usually so rough and tough, a thousand shades of anger and grumpiness and general disdain for the rest of the world, but, here, in this old car with just him, his voice is soft and gentle. He sounds in love.

His hands are everywhere, fingers touching Monty’s back pocket where he keeps the music player. It’s dead now, the battery ran out back when they were with Luna but he can hear the songs, still, sometimes. Steady guitar strums and melodic voices. Miller hums them, too, when he’s about to sleep, like he doesn’t want to forget them. Monty doesn’t really know why but this music player and the songs inside have always been theirs. There are certain songs he plays for the group, as they eat, as they walk –things he feels that belong to all of them. But there are some that he keeps for when he and Miller are alone.

As they kiss, there’s a soundtrack filled with music that’s been long dead. Monty likes to think, maybe, they’re giving it life again.

Miller seems to be thinking the same thing. He stops kissing Monty and holds the music player in his hands.

“Guess there’s no telling what’s gonna survive,” he says. “No telling what will. I don’t think this person, whoever they were, knew some part of them would live through a nuclear war and almost a century of a ruined world. But it did. So maybe the trick isn’t living forever. It’s building something that lasts.”

It was a throwaway comment but Monty kind of wants to rebuild the world with nothing more than his bare hands and Miller next to him. Who they are, who they want to be, don’t deserve to be locked behind the gates of Camp Jaha. Monty wants, desperately, to make something good with Miller.

“You should be a poet,” Monty says.

“I should,” Miller says, surprising him. “In my head, I’ve written epic poems about how much I want you.”

Monty surges forward, kissing Miller breathlessly. There’s nothing graceful about them; just a tangle of limbs, desperate for it. Monty straddles Miller the best he can, still kissing him. He doesn’t know why he wants everything so bad –so bad until he can feel Miller everywhere- but he has this beautiful boy under him and there’s no way he’s not taking advantage of that.

“Slow down there,” Miller says, though his hands are still on Monty. “World’s not ending yet.”

Miller wants it, too, Monty can tell by his wide pupils and heavy breathing, but he’s right. No way are they having their first time in the backseat of a rusty automobile. “Okay, Nate.”

Monty’s never called him anything but Miller since they met and he’s always been scared to. But the fear disperses when Miller beams.

They regroup and Wells tells them that he found a nearby hotel, with rooms enough for all of them. Monty feels a childish excitement of not needing to share a cramped space with someone else but Miller touches his back and _oh, right_.

There are vines and small trees wrapped around the structure of the hotel and, when they enter, there is an evident smell of mildew and dust but that doesn’t stop them from trying to get the best rooms. Even Bellamy and Clarke look like the kids he saw when they first landed on earth, in their haste to shuck off unnecessary layers and baggage and kick up their feet against sturdy chairs and lean against the countertop of the bar. Raven hasn’t picked up any signals, meaning there are no nearby friends or enemies to scare them off.

Rerouting the system for lights and air-conditioning might take up most of the night so they just decide to make a fire in the lobby of the hotel, burning anything they don’t need on the granite floors. The lobby would’ve been posh a hundred years ago: a large chandelier hanging above them and an open space with a piano and plush seating surrounding it, on  a rug that might’ve been soft before the bombs but now just feels like roughened grass. When they look up, there is a curved dome decorated with some of the most amazing drawings Monty has ever seen. Scenes of old-forgotten fairytales and stories told through gentle brushstrokes.

It seems to send Clarke into a rush of inspiration because she almost begs Lincoln for scraps of paper and anything to draw with. Around the fire, Miller and Bellamy are cleaning their weapons while Wells is over at Octavia and Lincoln, who are teaching him Trigedasleng. Though most of them know a bit of the language, like common phrases or greetings, Wells has really been delving into it. Monty has seen Wells and Lincoln talk to each other purely in Trigedasleng, though the words flow better in Lincoln’s mouth than Wells’.

Monty and Raven try to re-circuit the wires of the hotel but the technology is ancient, plus they found a family of bugs in the trip box. He and Raven talk in the same language to the point they don’t even need to finish their sentences for the other to get it.

“What if we connect that to the-”

“Yeah, that could work but we’d need to boost-”

“Of course. Not an idiot, Green.”

They manage to get the lights and fans switched on in the lobby and the first two floors, to everyone’s joy.

“Ah, there you go,” Raven says. And then, after a while, “Missed you, Monty.”

“I missed you, too, Raven,” he says. “You look good. Better.”

“Yeah, I’ve been through some kind of crap, haven’t I?” Raven smiles, a bit sad.

All those hours shared in the engineering hub made her talk to him. Every story, every trial –Raven took the bulk of the pain for it. Countless cuts and bruises, being strung up after being falsely accused, strapped down on an operating table, losing Finn. The world and the people in it haven’t given this girl a break since she landed. She should be a monster, hard and angry, but she still loves without reserve.

“Raven,” he says slowly, “where does Wick think you are?”

She sets her jaw. “With Clarke.”

“But doesn’t he-?”

“It’s complicated, Monty. My heart’s all over the place right now, I guess it doesn’t know where it belongs just yet.”

“Okay,” Monty says and she gives an appreciative smile when he doesn’t ask more. She deserves at least that.

They go back to the group and Miller puts down his gun in favour of wrapping an arm around Monty’s shoulder.

“Hi, Nate,” Monty says, still getting used to the way the name feels on his tongue. He sees Miller’s eyes go to Monty’s lips. “Wanna go to our room?”

Miller nods, maybe a little enthusiastically. Monty can tell the others are trying not to make a big deal about them leaving but he can see Octavia give him a thumbs-up and Bellamy send a threatening glare Miller’s way. They manage to get away, hands held together, to their room where there’s a plush-looking bed and a bathroom, only Miller doesn’t seem to care about that. The second he closes the door behind him, Miller has him pressed up against him and kissing and licking his way down Monty’s body.

Monty’s not kicking up much a fuss. He lets Miller lead, lets him take off his shirt and then his own until their bare skin press against each other, sending Monty wild with want. He’s dreamed about this, both voluntary and otherwise, but his imagination never covered how it would feel being the centre of Miller’s attention, or how his back muscles feel when Monty’s running his hands over it; the sounds Miller makes when Monty kisses back, hard.

“So, uh,” Monty says as Miller kisses down his chest, “I’m a desperate virgin so just be warned I might come the second you touch my dick.”

“Better make it count then, yeah?”

Miller gets his arms under Monty, hands on his ass, and carries him to the bed, never leaving his lips. Miller’s right above him, his hips starting to grind, and Monty can feel it, where they’re both hard and he pants. It starts out as just a need for friction but it ends up as full-on rutting, hard and fast. Monty goes boneless right there, fingers digging into Miller’s arm.

It’s so good, it’s so good.

He must’ve said this out loud because Miller says, “Could be better,” and shucks off his pants and boxers, leaving him completely naked which is just, wow, unfair, because he’s fucking gorgeous and he’s going to have sex with Nathan Miller.

He shivers when Miller does the same to Monty, planting soft kisses wherever the clothes leave him; on his hips, on his thighs and calves. Miller comes up again, kissing him urgently, and the second their cocks touch, Monty loses it. He grips tight onto Miller as he wraps a hand around the both of them.

“Monty,” Miller is saying. “You’re so good, you’re so good.”

His entire world whites out for two whole seconds, the image of Miller coming above him burned into his head, heart, soul, everywhere, everywhere.

 

Monty hears a rustle of sheets behind him as Miller gets up from the bed and comes towards him. He doesn’t know how long he’s been awake, only he got up for a glass of water and found an old toy car in the bathroom so he’s been working on fixing up the battery in the music player. He loses track of time sometimes.

“Hi,” Miller says, kissing his cheek. Monty is sitting down at the desk in the room so Miller kneels on the floor beside him, hand on his back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Monty answers. “Just trying to keep my hands busy.”

Miller smirks. “I’m not good enough for you?”

“First of all, working on you has a completely different meaning and secondly, I don’t need to fix you, you’re not broken.”

Miller smiles. He traces patterns on Monty’s back. “You nervous about tomorrow?”

Monty answers, “Little bit,” even if his hands shake when he thinks about finding his parents among the dead.

“They’re gonna be fine.”

“You don’t know that. You didn’t know about your mom,” Monty says, because Miller knows the pain of losing a parent. “There’s no possible way of knowing they’ll be okay.”

“There’s no way of telling they won’t be, either. So, stop, okay? Stop worrying yourself sick and come back to bed.”

“Wait,” Monty says. [He presses the button on the music player and music fills the room](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJtDXIazrMo). “There.”

He’s not any kind of artist but he wants to put every line of Miller’s smile on paper so he can remember it always. He lets himself be carried back to bed as Miller arranges them, Monty underneath him. All his thoughts and worries and doubts disappear as Miller kisses down his chest, his stomach, until he reaches Monty’s boxers, where it’s evident how much he likes the attention. Miller licks him through the fabric and Monty’s hands grip the sheets.

Miller kisses Monty’s hipbones as he hooks his fingers at Monty’s boxers to pull them off. It’s a seamless kind of action and Monty wonders who else he’s done this to but pushes the thought away. Miller is his now, at least for tonight. No one else exists.

Miller latches his mouth on the sharp line of Monty’s hip and sucks the skin there with sharp teeth, making sure the mark will hold. He licks and sucks and Monty feels his entire world focusing on this boy as his lips trail lower until he finally takes Monty in his mouth.

Monty’s never gotten harder faster in his life.

It’s not like Miller’s completely experienced at this, after all, because he sucks with no precision or expertise. It’s messy and a little odd but Monty looks down, sees Miller’s hollowed cheeks around him, and doesn’t give a damn. They have all the time in the world to work on their skills and, as Miller licks and sucks, it’s not like Monty’s complaining.

Monty tugs on the hair at the back of Miller’s head as Miller licks the underside of Monty’s cock.

“Nate, shit-” Monty wants to remember all of this –the way Miller’s pink lips stretch around his cock, how there’s a little bit of drool coming out of the corner of his mouth; the slick, sloppy sounds of it all, Miller’s fingers digging into Monty’s hips like they mean to bruise. “I’m gonna-”

Miller licks at the tip as his hand strokes the rest of Monty’s cock. It’s too good and Monty comes embarrassingly fast into Miller’s hand.

In his post-orgasmic bliss, he is dazed and barely registers Miller working his cock above him, though he does relish in the groans and moans and the final, choked-out, “ _Monty_ ,” before he comes.

“B-plus,” Monty says as he burrows closer to Miller’s side.

Miller gives a small snigger. “Ass.”

“What? You didn’t let me come in your mouth.”

“Next time, then,” Miller says, full of promise.

The room is filled with the sounds of their shallow breaths for a moment or two. “I don’t want to go back,” Monty says.

“Me neither.” It feels like a big thing, the two of them confessing this, because the Ark is all they’ve ever known outside of Bellamy, Clarke and their collective rule. It’s the place that raised them and pushed them into even smaller boxes. “We never belonged there.”

“Where did we belong?”

“I dunno. The dropship maybe. That was the first time I felt like I had a home.”

Miller doesn’t talk much about his home life, or lack thereof, but Monty has been able to pick up bits and pieces. Miller loves his father, undoubtedly, but their family was never the same after his mom died. It feels a little broken and forced when they call each other family. He’s been trying, so hard, for it not to feel like that but it’s even harder when they’re being constrained to being kids or criminals now.

“It wasn’t the dropship. It was us. We were good together, all of us,” Monty says. “And we’ve all been locked up one way or another; I don’t think we function well around walls.”

“Yeah,” Miller says, a sudden depth of feeling in the octaves of his voice. There he is, that rebel kid who trained a gun on everyone he didn’t love. “I wanna stay here forever. Just, you and me and Bellamy and anyone else we care about, without old Ark rules. The good thing about being dumped down here was we had a chance to make something for ourselves on our own. And we had something good going.”

Monty looks up to him. All long eyelashes and a barely-restrained anger under his skin. Nathan Miller is just too damn much sometimes. “Maybe we can get that back. Make a new home.”

“Maybe.”

They fall asleep again, until they’re woken up in a few hours for the last shift on guard and a new morning.

The morning marks a long journey to Agro station which is located, to the best of their knowledge, about five hours away. He looks up and sees the light hitting the glass windows of a nearby skyscraper. As the buildings behind him become swept up in the landscapes of familiar greenery, Monty begins to miss the concrete and steel.

Their packs are considerably heavier than before they found the city, stuffed with clothes and supplies they found that might prove useful. Miller’s even wearing this old, wrinkly leather jacket they found while raiding a department store. It doesn’t smell as awful as Monty thought it would and Miller thinks it makes him look like a badass.

The outskirts of the city they pass still look vaguely metropolitan, only more ruined. He can feel the roads that used to be underneath his feet but they’re masked by thick patches of grass growing through the cement. It’s almost like they’re walking further and further away from the destruction and rebirth of the world, as they start to see traces of the manmade structures from before.

Monty’s scared and Miller knows it. Pretty much everyone knows it because he can catch Wells give him a pitying smile and Lincoln is extra nice today, even Clarke knows to leave him alone for the better part of the day. No one else here has family in Agro station. Their family is either dead or already part of Camp Jaha. The only person that would feel like he’s feeling is Jasper. Whatever complications their friendships are going through, the Jordans have always been nice to him, always treated him as part of the family. If they survived this, Monty is going to do everything he can to make sure they’re safe.

In their fifth hour, Monty can smell smoke.

Bellamy is the first one to hold him back. “Monty,” he says, stern. “We don’t know that’s them.”

“These are the coordinates Abby gave us and I see fire,” Monty says.

“Wells, keep an eye on him,” Bellamy orders. “Miller, Clarke, O, on me. Everyone else, guard the rear.”

In the distance, he can see the top of a metal structure. They part through trees and branches and bushes until finally, _finally_.

It doesn’t look like Camp Jaha, with people milling about and the Guard at the gates. Agro doesn’t have gates. It just looks like they made camp where they landed and didn’t really think about adding security or fences or walls. Monty can hear the delighted screams of and he can see people in the outer part of Agro picking leaves and flowers from the ground. When they’re closer, Monty can even see the distinctive section where he and Jasper grew up to the left.

This has no taste of the militarization of Camp Jaha or the look of survivalist ruthlessness the dropship had. This just feels like a little piece of home.

Wells, following Bellamy’s orders, holds him back. In hindsight, it’s a good idea because Monty feels like running towards his section of home the second he sees it.

Bellamy leads them forward and people start to stare. People stop what they’re doing, the kids stop running around and Monty can see most of the attention being focused on Octavia and Lincoln, who, despite not electing to wear face paint today, still look more Grounder than most. Someone comes towards them, a woman with black hair and wary features.

“You’re from the Ark,” she says.

Bellamy nods. “Alpha and Mecha stations. You sent out a repeating signal that our communications managed to catch.”

The lady looks them over, from their hair to their boots, before a smile appears. “Took you long enough,” she says. “Come, I’ll show you around.”

Monty moves and, this time, no one objects. “Excuse me,” he says. “I was wondering if-”

“Monty!” a yell breaks through the crowd and Monty nearly trembles.

His mom hugs him first and he’s hit by her smell, unchanged by everything, and he can feel his father’s arms around them both. He starts crying like a kid and he remembers that’s what he still is. He’s _sixteen_ ; he’s a kid and he just wants his parents to hug him until the crying subsides. His mom holds his face in her hands and kisses his forehead, like she used to.

“Sweetheart,” she says, her voice cracking. “Oh, my _boy_.”

His father was never a tactile person but he can’t stop hugging Monty, hands searching all over for injuries or broken bones.

“I’m okay,” Monty says. “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t deserve this, both of his parents alive. All of those in their group right now have lost either one or both of their parents and here he is, hugging his mom and dad, after all he’s done. He doesn’t deserve this but, as his mother whispers in his ear, “ _Saranghae_ ,” he lets himself believe that he could.

 

Agro has done well for themselves these past couple of weeks without help. Lincoln tells them that this area has always been a no-man’s land so it’s lucky they landed here. Most of Agro aren’t soldiers, have never been trained in combat and there are only a few weapons at camp, so Monty could only imagine the havoc it would’ve caused if they landed nearer to where Camp Jaha and TonDC were.

They’ve been working on agriculture, for the most part. Most of their technology survived the fall so they’ve been investigating the vegetables and produce they’ve found nearby to create a farm-like hub where they can grow their own food. It’s wonderful news because no one from Alpha or Mecha has been able to ascertain what plants they can eat. They’ve mostly been hunting and, as Clarke has told them, eating just meat isn’t good.

When Bellamy says that they’re making their way back to Camp Jaha, the woman seemingly in charge, Suze, tells them that’s not really possible.

“What we have can’t just be transported. We can’t just uproot these people, we’ve grown comfortable here,” she says. “It is possible, however, to send a group back with you to trade what we have for their resources. They can send builders or security in exchange for our food and knowledge. We’ve landed far apart from each other, it’s ridiculous to think we’re still part of the same Ark.”

“That’s understandable,” Clarke says. “You’re safer here. I’m sure we can work out some kind of arrangement.”

Monty, who’s been squished in between his parents during lunch, asks, “What about you guys? Where are you going?”

“With you,” his father says. “Anywhere you’re going, we’re coming with you. We’re not losing you again.”

Monty feels his heart swell from those words. They’re all sitting in the middle of the camp, eating a stew that’s surprisingly delicious because they discovered some herbs they can use to flavour the food. The only thing he misses about Mount Weather is the food, how it tastes like actual food, but this stew is making him warm inside. Miller passes them with a smile for Monty and a curt nod to his parents before he sits next to Wells.

“He’s handsome,” his mom says. “What’s his name again? Miller?”

“ _Mooommm_.”

“What? Just because I’m your mother I can’t look? He is cute, don’t you think so?”

Monty awkwardly scratches his head. “Uh,” he says. “Yeah, he’s cute and he’s, uh, kind of my boyfriend?”

“Monty Green,” his mother says. “Your boyfriend is hot. I’m really proud.”

His dad, as always, is lost. “Wait, what happened to you and Jasper?”

“Me and Jasper were never together, dad, come on, keep up. He never liked me that way and, now, he barely even likes me.” His parents look at him worriedly. “Long story. I’ll tell you later.”

“But this Miller kid,” his dad says, “he make you happy?”

Miller is laughing at something Octavia said, his head thrown back. He hasn’t taken off that leather jacket he loves so much but Monty knows that, when he does, he can see the mark he left on Miller’s neck when they were in bed last night. He loves this boy; the kind of love that’s forged in wars and strengthens in times of peace. Maybe he’ll tell Miller that, maybe he won’t –but that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Yeah,” Monty answers, “he makes me happy.”

They have lunch together, talking about light topics because Monty can’t bear to talk about Mount Weather just yet, and Monty helps the camp with dinner. It’s a good kind of feeling to be back somewhere that’s home and not home at the same time. Towards the evening, he sees Lincoln and Octavia putting some extra packets of food in their packs.

“Why are you guys taking those? Some of Agro are coming back with us, don’t need to worry about food,” Monty asks.

Lincoln and Octavia share a look and Monty feels dread creep up in his spine.

“Monty,” Lincoln says slowly. “We’re not going back to Camp Jaha with you.”

“What?”

“Lincoln and I are leaving in the morning,” Octavia explains. “Monty, we don’t belong back in Camp Jaha. You know as well as we do. With the Grounder alliance gone, Lincoln and I don’t have any use there anymore.”

“So you’re just going to be gone...forever?”

“No, not forever. We’ll see each other again, I promise,” Octavia says. The way they’re talking to him, it’s like they’re placating him. It makes him angry.

Lincoln notices and wraps an arm around his shoulder, leading him away from Octavia and towards their temporary sleeping arrangements on the ground near the middle of the campsite. “I want to show you something,” he says.

He kneels down to take something from his pack. It’s a bunch of loose papers and a notebook. He knows what this notebook is, it’s the one Lincoln uses to draw out the maps. He can make out the trail from Camp Jaha to the ocean, to the city and Agro station. The maps are beautifully drawn.

The loose papers, however, are a surprise. It’s not as formally drawn like the maps are; they’re drawn with a hand full of passion and care. The drawings are of them. Clarke, with the sun hitting her hair, all golden and perfect, like there’s a crown of light on her head; Bellamy and Wells, with hands held together in the darkness; the skyscrapers of the city towering over miniscule figures on the ground that Monty realizes is them; Miller’s face, his eyes soft and smile fond, looking at Monty around the fireplace.

“Lincoln...”

“What we have been through...it’s part of our history now. Wherever Clarke goes, she’s a legend, whatever you and the others choose to do from here on out will make history. You are the first Sky People to make contact with us and that _means_ something,” Lincoln says. “But this, this is who you are now. A group of people who choose, at every turn, to do better.”

Lincoln gives the drawings over and Monty understands. _This_ , these drawings are saying, _this is the story of our people._

“Where will you go? Where will you stay?” Monty asks. “Camp Jaha doesn’t accept you but your people don’t, either.”

“Love is a powerful thing, Monty,” Lincoln says. “When I look at her, I know that I am more than ground, more than sky. I am hers and that is enough. Perhaps, one day, when you decide differently, we will see each other again.”

“It’s a possibility,” Monty says.

Lincoln kisses his forehead. “Until then, Monty Green, may we meet again.”

“May we meet again.”

 

He’s woken up, quite rudely, in the wee hours of the night. It’s quiet, so, really, any misstep can cause people to wake up so Raven whispers in his ear and tugs him out of bed.

“Whazzapenin?” Miller asks.

“Family meeting, dumbass, get up,” Raven says.

She makes them dress and leads them to Bellamy’s tent, where everyone is circled. No one else seems to be lost in the situation except for him and Miller; they all look completely serious and solemn.

“Good,” Bellamy says, “everyone’s here.”

“Bell, what’s up?” Octavia asks.

Bellamy steps up, his posture straight and his composure steady, and says, “I’m sure all of you have noticed this. Ever since this excursion of ours, I’ve made it no secret that I don’t feel good about going back to Camp Jaha. Wells feels the same, so do Miller and Monty. Lincoln and O are already planning on leaving in the morning. But I don’t want us to just go our separate ways without discussing this because Monty’s right. We’re a family and whatever decision we make today, we make it together.”

“So, basically, you’re asking us to go home only you don’t know where that is,” Miller says.

“Basically.” Bellamy shrugs. “We could leave, find someplace else. The Ark is _killing_ us. Sure, it’s been a safe haven for a while but it won’t be like that forever. Remember, this is the place that would’ve killed us if we stayed up there. We’re still criminals to them, we’re still just kids. But we’re better than that now. We know the earth better than them. We can survive without them.”

“I agree with Bellamy,” Raven speaks up. Clarke side-eyes her. “What? You know the Ark is made up of a bunch of dicks.”

“That doesn’t mean we don’t need them,” Clarke says. “This isn’t like the old days where you can make a new world just by being angry at the old one.”

“Says who? We crashed out of the sky and built a home out of the wreckage. We can do it again.” Bellamy earns agreeing nods from Octavia and Miller.

“That’s when we had no other option.”

“What other options do we have now?” Miller asks.

“We have the Ark.”

“The Ark isn’t an option, that’s why we’re having this fucking discussion.” Bellamy sighs.

Clarke looks exasperated. “It’s not a discussion if you won’t listen to anyone else’s opinion!” she yells. “Look, people can change.”

“Systems don’t. You show them diplomacy, they show you an open airlock. That’s how the Ark works.”

Wells, who’s been silent all this time, mutters, “I was right.”

“What?” Raven asks.

Wells looks at Bellamy, suddenly finding a wind of courage. “Remember what I told you when we first landed here? We won’t survive here on our own.”

“We’ve done just fine,” Octavia says.

“Maybe but I want more than fine for us,” Wells says. “Look, I hate them, too, knowing what they did to you and Bellamy and maybe I hate my father, too, for enforcing those laws but I’m not ready to give up on them yet. We’ve survived fine, sure, we have hunters and gunners and warriors but we’re not at war right now. Right now, what we have to worry about is building something, not destroying something else. The Ark has resources for us to do that. We have people back in Camp Jaha, kids who look up to Bellamy and Clarke, our parents, people who did nothing to us, and don’t they deserve something better than just bare survival? Don’t they deserve security and traditions and roots?”

Wells has everyone’s attention now, his words wrapping around them.

“Between us alone, we have engineers,” Wells pats Monty’s shoulder, “doctors,” he looks at Clarke, “diplomats and soldiers,” he gives Lincoln and Octavia an appreciative nod, “we have hearts and heads, hands and souls. So maybe we’re not Sky People or Trigedakru but we can build something else, something that’s _ours_. We could do this if we wanted to but it’s not going to start with an act of banishment like they banished you. I don’t want to be like that and I don’t want you to be like that, either.”

The space is quiet for a while, except for the shallow breaths of everyone’s thoughts, until Miller says, “I’m with Wells.”

“What?” Bellamy asks, a little dazed.

“Yeah. A new world, one that’s ours, that...that sounds good.” Miller holds Monty’s hand. He teases Bellamy, who just looks in awe of the wonder that is Wells Jaha. “Where’s your inspirational speech, bro?”

Bellamy chuckles. “Guess I’m out of practice,” he says. “I’m with Wells, too. Miller, you sure about this?”

“Now I’m really sure.” He looks at Bellamy. “Hope you know, Bellamy, I know where my loyalties lie and they lie with you.”

“Against your better judgement, I’m sure.”

Miller shakes his head, unfazed. “It’s the best judgement I’ve made since we landed on the ground. You’re more than just my king now, you’re my brother. And there’s nothing truer than that in this goddamned universe.”

Bellamy bows his head, trying to conceal his smile. It’s adorable, really.

Around them, one by one, everyone starts agreeing and pitching in their own ideas for a new civilization. Lincoln tells them there are clans that won’t be so adverse to join an alliance with them, which can grant them security wherever it is they plan to plant this new world of theirs; Clarke says they need to figure out a good enough strategy to break away from the Ark and not abandon its people.

Monty feels out of place in the space he shares with great thinkers and soldiers so he just stands next to Raven and agrees to build them whatever they need. He can do this, at least. Whatever world they’re building, Monty is selfish enough to want generations to come to see his fingerprints on the cement.

So it goes, they say goodbye to Lincoln and Octavia as the sun rises because they will meet again soon and start making their way to Camp Jaha, where they will make their case. Bellamy, Clarke, Wells and Raven have argued –loudly and at length- about whether or not Wells should walk through those gates and they’re all as stubborn as the next. Wells and Clarke won out, though, probably because they’ve been fighting together since they were kids and their debates come seamlessly, one after the other.

The four of them are explosive. It’s like looking at the sun, the way they would burn for each other. Monty is only safe because they love him.

Once they reach the gates, it’s like every person in the camp stops and just stares. The four of them at the forefront are a force of nature. Just the sight of them makes objects move.

“Clarke,” Abby’s voice breaks through and she comes to hug Clarke. And, just like that, the facade breaks and reunions are encouraged. Harper hugs him and whispers into his ear that she’s missed him; Monty can see Sergeant Miller wrap his arms around his son tightly and check if there are any new injuries; Monroe gives Bellamy a nod that says, _they’re fine, I took care of them just fine_.

“Mom,” Clarke says. “We need to have a talk.”

“What’s wrong?”

Wells puts a hand on Clarke’s back. “Not out here.” Abby seems to notice him for the first time and her eyes widen, her arms at her sides, like she doesn’t know what to do. Regardless, she follows them into the skeletons of Alpha station.

“Monty, what’s going on?” Harper asks him. “What the hell happened out there?”

“Harper, do you trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Then it’s going to be okay. I’ll tell you about it later, okay?” he squeezes her hand one more time before he makes eye contact with Miller and they follow Bellamy and Clarke into Alpha station.

It’s messy, it was bound to be. Abby is less than willing to relinquish control to a bunch of kids, even more so when one of those kids happens to be her daughter. It takes days and sleepless nights trying to get the Council, or what’s left of it, on their side. Monty catches Wells and Clarke talking in hushed voices more than once, going over the points they need to make a better world, all the while Bellamy becomes liaison to Octavia and Lincoln, who are trying to get as many of the Twelve Clans to grant them safe passage and lands.

As they used to say, Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither were they.

What was left of the 100 find their loyalties for Bellamy and Clarke stronger than their desire to stay cooped up in a small compound, held back by the same laws that put them in prison. By the end of it all, Wells, Clarke, Bellamy and Raven stand in front of the bare bones of what’s left of the Ark. It’s not a lot, to begin with –a weak military structure that’s slowly dying, a Chancellor who finds no joy in leading, a bunch of people who don’t know where to go.

The Ark wasn’t built to last forever, not even on Earth.

When they issue the ultimatum (“Us or them”) Monty isn’t surprised by the sheer number of people who join their side. Sergeant Miller, with his influence as Chief Guard, manages to get most of the muscle and brawn on their side and most of medical, who are taken by Agro’s ability to manufacture drugs, until all that’s left is a group of people who just look lost.

Nathan stands by his side, steady as ever.

“Looks like you’re getting your new world,” he says. “You ready for that?”

Monty kisses him. “As long as you’re there, I’m down for anything.”

They become the faces of a new world order –these fierce and hungry souls with broken kids following him at their heels. For a moment, he wishes Lincoln was here with his brushes and colours to capture how, just for a second or two, they look much more than human.


	4. everywhere, all at once

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end is here!! 
> 
> the soundtrack is live at [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/forallmyheart/made-to-get-love-right) and this episode is brought to you by [north by sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=byHSQoemFvI). if you can, please listen while reading!! thank you everyone for leaving love and comments. 
> 
> also i actually DO have a [tumblr](http://amanywordedthing.tumblr.com/). i don't update much but i'm trying to rectify that! drop in and say hi and scream about minty to me

It isn’t a particularly eventful day. It’s slow, for the most part. There’s a bustling around the village, as there always is, but nothing too fast or hurried about everyone’s movements. On busy days, Monty can hardly find the time to breathe, let alone work on his little side projects, as Nathan likes to call them. So this, this is a nice change. Monty has his own room to work on his projects, courtesy of the young builders under Monroe’s watch, which is good because he tends to wake Nathan up when he’s awake soldering shit and they’ve learned the hard way that Monty and Raven should never share a room.

“Hey,” Nathan says, coming into his room. “You ready?”

“Just about,” Monty says, putting down his tools and cleaning the dirt on his shirt. He comes towards Nathan and kisses him. “Where are we going?”

“Oh, come on, can’t I have just one surprise?”

They go out, the village trying to get everything ready for the day. When they were a hundred-strong in their numbers, it made sense for them to keep moving, become a nomadic kind of tribe that never settled anywhere, trying to make alliances everywhere they went so they could be safe. But, now, now with children being born from the Sky People and Grounders alike, they couldn’t just pack up their stuff and leave like they used to. So they built villages and towns in their name, in the hopes, the ground would feel more like home.

It worked, for the most part, but Monty’s sure that’s only because the people he loves, his kings and queens, share the same space as him. He sees them every day and finds comfort in their presence.

Years down the road, he revels in the feel of the dirt under his fingernails and the matching tattoos he and Nathan have on their arms. When they started, in this space where the sky and ground both felt like places they belonged, during the early treaties, they struggled with a name for their mismatched group. The backbone of them were, ultimately, the surviving delinquents so some of them joked they should be called ‘delinquents’ in Trigedasleng, only there was never a direct translation for the word so the name watered down, became adapted into the ground as they all were.

 _The strong-willed_ , they became – _the survivors_.

A small figure runs into Monty, nearly falling down.

“Maya,” Monty kneels down, checking if she’s hurt. She’s four and more annoying than most. She’s lucky she’s cute. All dark skin and black hair, with eyes that take after her father. “Where are your parents?”

She just shrugs. “Dunno.”

Nathan sighs. “You have four parents, you don’t know where even one of them are?”

Harper comes towards them, with a fond smile directed to Maya. “She’s just trying to hide from them. Bellamy’s been trying to get her to train with the other kids but Clarke and Wells always fight him on it. Raven just laughs at them,” she explains. “It’s a debacle, really.”

“Yeah,” Nathan says, “who thought it was a good idea for the four of them to have a kid?”

Harper just tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. She knows Nathan’s just kidding –the four of them managed to raise a hundred teenagers who crashed from the sky just fine.

In the distance, Monty can see Bellamy and Wells walk, calling out Maya’s name. Despite it all, Maya runs back to them, into their arms. Clarke and Raven soon join in for this impromptu family hug. It’s an odd arrangement, the four of them with a child in between them, but Monty always thinks it was always supposed to end up this way. They all loved so deeply and fiercely. There was room enough in their hearts.

For years, people have tried to give them, Bellamy and Clarke in particular, crowns carved from scrap metal or vines or flowers but they never gave in. This was not a monarchy, this clan of theirs, even if everyone knew who were the real leaders; who it was that were at the forefront of every battle, who managed the treaties and trades with other clans.

Nathan takes Monty’s hand and leads them away from the village.

They pass Jasper as they leave the compound, who smiles at both of them. It was never the same for the both of them after Mount Weather, even if they tried their hardest. They love each other like soldiers after the war: hushed conversations over glasses of moonshine complete with sentences like, _do you remember when..._

Nathan leads them pass the new buildings, the woods, the forests.

“Where are you taking me?” Monty asks, laughter in his voice.

It isn’t often that Nathan is spontaneously romantic like this. He has his moments, sure, right when they wake up and Nathan kisses slow and tentative, gentle hands that roam his body like he’s a map to somewhere he fantasizes of living in; feather-light words he bites into his skin like _I love you, I need you, you’re amazing_ , when he fucks Monty.

When he thinks about it, his blood rushes south and it doesn’t help that Nathan looks gorgeous in the afternoon sun like this. He trims his beard every once in a while but, now, he looks like the kid Monty fell in love with back in Mount Weather. They’re not as young as they used to be but, god, with Nathan looking like this, it isn’t hard for Monty to pretend.

“I found a shortcut,” is all Nathan says.

As they make their way through a familiar thicket of trees, Monty understands.

“Nate,” Monty breathes, almost feeling like crying.

It’s the beach, the beach from lifetimes ago, where he kissed Nathan for the first time. It wasn’t that long ago, Monty realizes, but they’ve built a new civilization since then. It feels like they’ve already spent their lives together, but there’s something about being back here that makes him feel older than he should.

Nathan, though, doesn’t quite notice and leads him to the sand, where they sit and watch the waves touch their toes.

“Hey,” Monty says. “I love you.”

It feels like a cheap trick, saying those three words, after all they’ve been through; feels like a bunch of broken promises and teenage dreams that never came to pass.

“Love you, too,” Nathan says, holding his hand. “And, here, I wanted to show you something.”

Nathan takes something from inside his jacket –an old notebook Monty recognizes from the scavenging trip they took maybe a year ago. It isn’t the notebook Monty is accustomed seeing Nathan hold. It’s usually the large, dark-blue book that everyone has written it at least once. It used to be a scrapbook of sorts for everyone to keep track of where they came from but soon evolved into a history book. Bellamy, Miller and Lincoln are the usual keepers of their history, with Miller writing passages, Bellamy looking them over and Lincoln supplying drawings or paintings to go along with the words.

So, this, this is different.

When Monty opens it, he sees pages upon pages of what seems to be poetry: little jagged edges of words. Though he also finds paragraphs of words that don’t stop, that seem like letters that are never meant to be read.

“You told me once,” Nathan says, “that I should be a poet. Guess I finally listened.”

Monty can’t digest all of it, the raw penmanship of Nathan’s. It is something visceral and feral, wrapped up in pretty imagery of lush forests and unending blue seas. It’s the way Nathan Miller lives, after all –the anger and sheer brutality hiding behind a pretty face. This boy of his has teeth and claws that mark.

 _My mouth is bloody_ , one of the lines say, _but he kisses it anyway._

All these years, after everything they’ve built; all the villages and towns and councils, the concrete and wood and brick and mortar and Monty can live without all of that. This is home enough. Here is where he wants to plant his roots so they may intertwine with Nathan’s.

He kisses him, tells him he loves him, and everything, all at once, is perfect.

 

Years later, eons later, maybe, no one can ever tell, two girls walk through the woods, hands held together tightly and find a weathered and old notebook. It’s brown and torn at the edges. _N. Miller_ is written messily on the front page.

_I found something good here. Found a boy who loves me, like sunshine he is; found a use for my hands that aren’t just blood and violence and war; found a family. Now, the others, them who don’t understand all of this, how we burned, how we rose –they can put a spear to my chest, aim a gun at me, blow bombs at my feet and I won’t be scared of dying one bit. Been on the ground too long for that, would just worry about that boy back home crying over my poor soul even though he doesn’t have to. Even though he knows full well I got a soldier’s body and soldiers die in wars._

_Dunno what kind of luck I got but all these wars, I should’ve died a long time ago, should never have gotten the chance to see him wake him all slow and soft next to me or see our friends become family, or see what we built come to pass. But I got it, the earth’s good grace to see and smell and hear it all; the babies being born, the bodies burned, the buildings stretching out for miles and miles –got a chance to make him mine._

_So, see, they can ask me all they want. I’m not giving them a fucking thing._


End file.
